


Make Me Feel The Same

by gilligankane



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-06
Updated: 2010-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:49:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She finds out about Finn and Santana through Tina who found out from Mercedes who got it from Kurt who was talking to Brittany who mentioned it in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me Feel The Same

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate ending to 1x15 "Power of Madonna"

She finds out about Finn and Santana through Tina who found out from Mercedes who got it from Kurt who was talking to Brittany who mentioned it in the first place.

At first, she feels betrayed; she feels like someone just walked over her repeatedly in Kurt’s highest heels, and it stings so bad she cries in the bathroom for the first time since they won Sectionals, because she said “ _no_ ” to Jesse and Finn, apparently, didn’t say the same to Santana.

He doesn’t even try to deny it when he sees the look on her face. He only straightens his shoulders and looks down at her and says, “ _Well, what do you care? You’re with Jesse anyway.”_

 _I care_ , she wants to tell him, but he’s right. She’s with Jesse now, and that was her choice and besides, he’s the perfect boyfriend: he’s cute and sweet and loves Barbra Streisand just as much – probably more, actually, judging by the corner shrine in his room – as she does.

Jesse is perfect for her and Finn was just a crush so she pats him on the arm and smiles at him and asks if they can still be friends.

Then she goes and finds Santana.

\---

“What do you want?” Santana asks, filing away mercilessly at her nails, not even bothering to look up.

Rachel just glares, hopeful that her anger will frighten the cheerleader a little, but after a few seconds of silence, when it becomes clear that Santana isn’t even paying attention to her, Rachel slams her math book onto the table.

Santana looks up slowly. “What?” she asks again, her voice as cool as ice.

She falters a little. “Why did you do it?”

“You’re going to have to specify exactly what it is you’re talking about, Yeti.”

Rachel crosses her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes. “You slept with Finn,” she accuses.

Santana scoffs. “There wasn’t any sleeping involved, Berry.”

“You know what I mean,” Rachel says, stepping closer.

Santana’s head snaps up quickly and Rachel wants to take her step back, but she’s rooted in place by the sheer power of Santana’s glare: the dark, hard, glittering eyes, daring her say what it is she wants to say.

“You took his virginity without any regard as to how anyone would feel.”

“You mean, with any regard as to how  _you_  would feel,” Santana corrects.

Rachel pauses, but nods shakily after a moment. “You seduced him.”

“Wasn’t exactly hard to do,” Santana cuts in. “I mean, I offered and he said no at first, but then he shows up at my locker, blushing like some prepubescent girl, stammering out a yes. Didn’t even break a sweat, really.”

If there’s one thing Rachel hates about Santana, it’s her self-satisfied smirk and the way she looks up through her eyelashes while she does it, because she knows she’s untouchable.

Rachel hates it because whenever Santana smirks, it’s usually at Rachel’s expense.

“He didn’t want it,” Rachel tries to argue.

Santana shrugs her shoulders. “Of course he didn’t. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

In what she later defines as one of her lesser moments, Rachel leans forward, hands on her hips, close to Santana’s ear and hisses, “You’re a slut.”

She turns on her heel and storms out of the mostly empty lunchroom.

It’s one of her worst storm-outs ever.

\---

 _It’s not fair_ , she thinks, seething in Glee. She sits as far away from Finn as she can, pressed into Jesse’s side.  _It’s not fair that she just sits there pretending that she didn’t steal something from Finn_.

The other voice in her head tells her that it’s not fair Santana sits there pretending she didn’t steal anything from  _her_  either.

“What’s wrong?” Jesse asks, prodding her in the shoulder.

She frowns at him and slaps his hand away. “Nothing.” Rachel stands. “Mr. Schuester, are we going to sing today, or are we just going to sit here?”

Mr. Schuester blinks and she thinks she sees him shake his head, but then he’s nodding and passing out handfuls of sheet music, moving through the arrangement with the band.

Halfway through The Beatles version of “You’ve Really Got A Hold On Me,” she sees Santana wink at Finn then glance coolly at Rachel and she feels her stomach flip and bile rise in her throat.

Citing vocal strain, she doesn’t sing for the rest of practice.

\---

A week later, she’s still silently fuming about it and Santana isn’t helping. Every time the cheerleader sees Rachel and Finn is nearby, she finds a reason to hang off him.

The only consolation is that Finn doesn’t look all too pleased with it either.

\---

“Was it good?”

The question slips out without her meaning it to, but now since it’s there, she looks up at Finn expectantly, waiting for an answer.

He opens his mouth a few times before he sputters out a, “What?”

Rachel steels herself and asks again. “Was it good?”

“Rachel,” he says wearily.

She shakes her head. “No, we’re friends. And friend’s talk about this stuff.”

“ _Guy_  friends, Rachel. Besides, you’re,” he trails off. “I can’t talk about that with you.”

“Come on, Finn. It’s just one question.”

Finn takes a step back, his eyes harder to read than she’s even seen them before. “I’m not talking about it with you, Rachel. I’m serious.”

She lets Finn scamper down the hall, but he turns around before he turns a corner and looks at her evenly, his voice steady. “I’m serious,” he repeats, waiting until she stops scowling before he continues on his way.

Rachel eyes the empty space where Finn was standing, her scowl back in place, because Finn isn’t the brightest kid if he thinks she’s just going to drop it. She sighs and puts her books away in her locker, taking out what she needs and filling her backpack.

Then she goes and finds Santana.

\---

It doesn’t take much convincing, which could be blamed on either the desperation in Rachel’s voice that she doesn’t hide very well, or the fact that Santana really comes off as easy.

When Santana is sure that Rachel isn’t messing around, she gets a look in her eye that Rachel has never seen before, except for one time she watched Puck watching Quinn, and she nods resolutely.

Rachel feels her stomach flip again and ignores the way the hairs on the back of her neck lift a little when Santana leans in and whispers in her ear, “The Rent-a-Room, eight o’clock.”

“Okay,” she says, only stammering a little bit.

Santana smirks again and stays leaning in for so long of a moment that Rachel is sure Santana is going to do something like kiss her, but she only hovers for a second longer, then pulls away, turning on her heel. One pleat of her skirt lifts with the spin and Rachel can’t stop her eyes from following the motion, tracing the sway of Santana’s hips as she glides down the hall.

Santana smirks and Rachel inwardly berates herself.

\---

She’s twenty minutes early, sitting outside the door of the room Santana rented from the pay-by-the-hour Motel at the very edge of Lima, wondering – not for the first time – why she’s even doing this.

Santana pulls into the parking lot and takes her time getting out of the car, a dark shape against the barely-lit parking lot strolling casually towards room 4, twirling her keys in her hand. Rachel straightens up from her slouch and stands, arms folded over her chest.

“Hey,” Santana says, her quiet voice still booming in the abandoned area.

Rachel nods, but busies herself with trying to open the door, the rusted key sticking in the lock before she gets it to turn. She’d refrained from going inside earlier, because waiting in there would make this even worse than it already is.

Santana finds the light switch on the wall and flips it, but it doesn’t really make a difference. Most of the light streaming through the window is red, from the flashing “motel” sign on the building and it’s not much to go by, but Rachel can see Santana’s flipflops and her long coat and her painted fingernails, so it’s enough for now.

“I need to use the bathroom,” she says quickly, not giving Santana a chance to say anything before she’s pushing the button lock on the bathroom door, sitting on the toilet with her head in her hands.

 _Bad idea,_  she thinks.  _This is a terrible idea_.

\---

Five minutes later, Santana knocks lightly on the door. “Rachel, come out of there,” she commands.

Without thinking about it, she’s twisting the doorknob and pulling the door open. Santana is standing in the doorway, one hip canted out. Rachel’s eyes travel from her bare feet up her calf muscles, losing sight of skin at the hem of her mauve nightgown, finding it again at Santana’s shoulders, finally meeting her eyes.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” she hears herself murmur.

If she thinks she sees disappointment in Santana’s eyes, she ignores it and looks at the ground instead, shoving her hands in her pockets, not feeling like herself all of the sudden.

She looks up when she sees Santana’s feet move and Santana is sitting on the counter of the bathroom, swinging her legs back and forth. “We don’t have to.”

Rachel blinks hard, because this Santana in front of her isn’t the Santana who taunted her for days about stealing Finn’s virginity; this Santana looks a little shyer and it makes Rachel’s stomach flip.

“I thought you never said no?”

Santana’s head snaps. “I never force anyone to do something they clearly don’t want to do either.”

“It’s just a big deal for me,” Rachel tries to explain.

“I know,” Santana says, rolling her eyes. “Just come here for a second.”

Rachel’s body moves without her permission again, sliding into the space against the counter, between Santana’s knees. Tan fingers find her hipbones under her shirt, running lightly across her skin.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Santana orders softly, her laugh skittering across Rachel’s cheek.

She doesn’t have time to think about the instruction before Santana’s mouth is pressed against hers and then all she can comprehend is  _warm_  and  _soft_ and  _kiss back_.

It isn’t like kissing Jesse or Finn and it’s a little like Puck, but significantly more controlled.

Her hands, splayed against the cool countertop, find the silky fabric of Santana’s nightgown and she grips tighter when Santana’s tongue pushes against the seam of her lips and touches her teeth hesitantly. She whimpers into Santana’s mouth, pressing her body closer against the countertop, her hands sliding around to press against the small of Santana’s back.

Fingertips slip past the waistline of the sweats she unceremoniously donned earlier in the night and her body shudders, pushing up into Santana’s. The other girl laughs against Rachel’s mouth, pulling away from her lips and moving across her cheek, pressing a kiss against her skin under her ear. “Not in here,” Santana says, her whisper low.

Rachel nods shakily, and lets Santana slide off the counter. The other girl smiles down at her and starts pushing her backwards, smirking when the backs of Rachel’s legs hit the edge of the bed, sending her on her back, sprawled across the comforter.

Santana stares down at her, forehead just a little furrowed, so Rachel props herself up on her elbows and gives a small, hesitant smile.

“I believe this works better with two parties involved.”

Santana almost laughs. “Only sometimes. Hold on, I’m thinking.”

“Well,” Rachel huffs, “don’t.” When Santana doesn’t move, Rachel bites her bottom lip and whispers, “I’m going to lose my nerve in a few minutes. And,” she trails off for a moment. “I’d much rather lose my virginity.”

It seems to steel some sort of resolve in Santana because the cheerleader nods to herself and the bed dips as she kneels over Rachel, sitting on the tops of Rachel’s thighs. She grins – predatory and confident and  _this_  is the Santana Lopez Rachel knows and doesn’t necessarily like, but tolerates, for reasons like this.

A thigh pushes against one of her knees and then Santana is leaning up and over, hands pressed into the comforter on either side of Rachel’s head. She closes her eyes as she feels Santana’s breath beating against her chin, Santana’s thigh pushing up.

Her body arches, her torso flush against Santana’s with the motion. She can barely hear Santana chuckling in her ear over the pounding of her own blood. Santana’s mouth is against her chin, biting down until Rachel forces her eyes open and tilts her head back down, her back against the mattress again.

Santana smiles, less of a grin and more genuine, but nuzzles against Rachel’s cheek, leaning close to her ear. “Don’t hold your breath,” she repeats.

Rachel nods but her entire body is still tense as Santana’s hand traces from her collarbone, circling and following the line of her bra, before stopping at the waistband of her sweats. Santana’s fingers slide past it again and the feeling is familiar – at least, the heat of someone else’s hand and the feeling of fingernails scraping against her hipbone is. Rachel’s breath catches and Santana’s head raises; with a simple eyebrow lift, Rachel opens her mouth and gasps at the stale motel room air a few times before Santana looks back down, watching her hand tugging at Rachel’s pants, rocking back onto her knees to allow for Rachel to lift and kick them off.

Rachel shivers when Santana runs a hand up her thigh lightly, and when the cheerleader leans back down, kissing the corner of Rachel’s mouth, then tugging on her bottom lip, maybe this isn’t a bad idea after all.

She’s so focused on Santana’s tongue curling around her own that she’s not ready for the heel of Santana’s hand against the damp cotton of her panties, digging and pressing. The cotton is rough and Santana’s hand isn’t gentle and Rachel is suddenly hyperaware of everything: the ticking clock on the wall, Santana’s hips against her pelvis, her own fingers curled into the mattress. She can feel the weight of Santana’s body draped over her and she squirms, shifting Santana’s hand a little lower.

Rachel gasps once and Santana swallows the second gasp as the hand disappears, finding and tugging at the top of Rachel’s underwear.

When Santana looks up, she nods at the unasked question and braces herself, still jumping at the feeling of fingers that don’t belong to her pressing against heat.

She nods again, because Santana is looking at her, but still moving her fingers in circles, switching directions as she makes eye contact with Rachel, holding it, pressing gently.

They both feel the resistance at the same time and suddenly, Rachel is back to thinking this is a bad idea.

Maybe she wanted to experience the teenage cliché: in a hotel room after prom and her makeup is smeared and her tiara is on the chair in the corner and the prom king is kneeling over in his cummerbund and a goofy smile. Maybe she wanted  _that_ , but now what she has is: sweatpants pooled on the floor by the bed and a time limit - if this takes longer than an hour they’ll have to put down another fifteen dollar – and Santana isn’t the prom king and there’re no candles or secret smiles between the two of them.

Maybe she wanted that.

She’s not aware she said it out loud until Santana narrows her eyes – more in confusion than anger, Rachel thinks, silently this time – and starts to pull back, her fingers sliding out of Rachel’s body.

Rachel wasn’t prepared for Santana’s hand there, nor is she prepared for its disappearance, because as soon as it’s gone, she’s grabbing for Santana’s wrist and guiding it back, holding it in place and taking a deep breath.

“I’m worth more than an extra fifteen dollars,” Santana mumbles under her breath, settling back down.

“I know,” Rachel whispers, her free hand pulling Santana’s chin until she finds Santana’s mouth, sliding her tongue in and around. “I know,” she says again, canting her hips up.

Santana gets the hint and pushes, slowly – though Rachel still winces and bites down on Santana’s tongue in surprise. She feels lightheaded and weighed down all at once and then Santana’s body is rocking against hers and her hand is fisting against the comforter, the other tangled in long brown strands and there are fingers pressing and dipping and pushing and stretching.

She swears she sees gold stars.

\---

Santana traces her ankle bone disinterestedly, running a finger all the way to her toe and back down. Leaning on one elbow at the foot of the bed, her body stretched out so her feet are touching the headboard, long hair in her face, Santana doesn’t look like Santana Lopez.

She looks human.

“I  _am_  human,” Santana says, rolling her eyes.

At the head of the bed, arms tucked under her head, propped up on the pillow, the sheets bunched around her, Rachel nods, humoring Santana before falling back into the comfortable silence she broke.

A few minutes later, she shifts, rolling onto her side, mirroring Santana’s position. “You know, this might cause some complications.”

Santana tosses her hair over her shoulder, out of her eyes. “We already did it. You should have brought up ‘complications’ before.”

“No,” she says patiently. “I mean, emotionally, a person forms a sort of attachment to the person they lost their virginity to. I read about it.”

She ignores Santana murmuring  _“of course you did”_  and nods. “I’m quite serious. There’s an extremely high chance that, emotionally speaking, of course, I will become annoyingly attached to you.”

Rachel watches Santana think it over. She almost thinks she can see the gears turning and then Santana is running her hand back across Rachel’s foot, tracing a sort of alphabet Rachel can’t comprehend.

“An attachment, huh?”

Rachel nods steadily and Santana shrugs her shoulders,  _almostmaybekindof_  smiling. “Whatever. It’s not like you’re hideous, or anything. Besides, if it’ll stop you from mooning over Finn and maybe you can ditch Mr. Schue’s hair-a-like.” Rachel’s mouth drops, but Santana ignores her, dragging a fingernail across the vein in her foot. “Can this attachment include burgers?” she continues. “And maybe some ice cream? I’m starving?”

She blinks hard a few times and finally just nods. “S-sure.”

Santana smiles widely, lifting up and leaning over and pressing a kiss to Rachel’s mouth quickly. “This attachment thing might work.”

\---

He finds out about Rachel and Santana through Tina who found out from Mercedes who got it from Kurt who was talking to Brittany who mentioned it in the first place.

At first, he feels betrayed; he feels like someone just walked over him repeatedly in Puck’s football cleats, and it stings so bad he almost cries, like a girl, in the bathroom for the first time since he found out about the baby not being his, because he regretted sleeping with Santana in the first place and apparently, Rachel didn’t.

She doesn’t even try to deny it when he sees the look on her face. She only straightens her shoulders and looks up at him and says, “ _Well, what do you care? You’re weren’t going to date her.”_

 _I care_ , he wants to tell her, but she’s right. He wasn’t going to date her, and that was Rachel’s choice and besides, he’d be a terrible boyfriend for Santana and she’d be an awful girlfriend:  he wouldn’t want to deal with her drama or her insane need to be better than him and she would pretty much walk all over him, because she could and he’d never dare to call her on it.

Santana is perfect for anyone else and Rachel was just a crush so he pats her on the top of the head and smiles at her and asks if they can still be friends.

Then he watches her go and find Santana.


End file.
